Clear Blue Skies
by Bremm
Summary: Episode tag:twist for Tao of Rodney. McKay's only got two options, death or ascension, and the journey towards either might just tear him apart. There are some things humans were never meant to understand.
1. You Can't Run Forever

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or the places found in Stargate: Atlantis. If it's not in the show, it's mine.

Summary: Episode tag/twist for Tao of Rodney. McKay's only got two options, death or ascension, and the journey towards either might just tear him apart. There are some things humans were never meant to understand.

Spoilers: Any episode up to and including Tao of Rodney is fair game.

Characters: Everyone. Yay.

Author's Note: I don't have a beta for any of my stories, so there's that forewarning... there's some swearing, nothing gratuitous, but I'm a sailor so I know full well what things come out of your mouth during dire situations and I prefer to be realistic. Not much else to say other than that, just that I found the episode vastly amusing and the ending not to my liking, so I toyed with the story a bit. It grew to be almost obnoxiously long and after realizing that it's going to take me a while to write, I broke it down into chapters. Well, here's to hoping you enjoy it

* * *

_And so now I move on  
To keep my peace of mind  
In some way, I've failed you  
But I just ran out of time_

_-Shinedown_

**Clear Blue Skies**

**by Bremm**

**Chapter 1**

**H**e can't bear to look at Radek. He can't bear to look at any of them. The emotions that play across their faces are almost physically painful; Elizabeth's fear, Sheppard's disbelief, but maybe worst of all is the look Rodney catches on Carson's face. It's not jealously in those blue eyes– god no, Carson has never been that kind of person – but there's something there that makes Rodney's gut churn.

It hits him suddenly like a hammer blow, exactly what it is he's just done, what he fears in Carson's gaze - Carson is staring at him like he's staring at a _stranger_, like he isn't even Rodney, and he's not, not any longer, and that terrifies him. _I'm not even human anymore, _he comprehends in horror. His gaze darts down to his hands, which he's retracted from Radek's chest – feels the flow of energy, energy that's on the tip of his tongue, the tip of his fingertips, swirling all around him -

He turns and runs. Sheppard makes a startled noise as Rodney ducks around the corner of the infirmary, out of sight, but Rodney doesn't dare pause. Anything would be better than staying and facing... facing _that, _facing whatever it is he's just done. Facing whatever it is he's woken up inside himself.

The urge to get as far away as possible is overwhelming. He doesn't know what he's running from, only knows relief as his feet are pounding against the ground and the scene in the infirmary is fading into the distance. His footfalls are loud in his ears, unbearably so, but he can't concentrate enough to force his heightened senses back to some semblance of normal.

He can't wash the feeling out of his mind. The mind-boggling awareness of the human body, the flow of blood through veins, the beat of a heart, each intake and exhalation of breath, it thunders through his head like a runaway train. His own heart beats harder and harder with each step, his blood pounding through his veins with increasing force, a current as strong as the energy he felt when-

_I just brought a man back to life. _

Rodney is terrified. The aesthetics of the hallway are passing in a blur of blue and white and his mind churns frantically, _I healed him, I can _do _things like that-_

_Deep breaths, McKay, deep breaths, _he thinks almost frantically to himself as he runs. He focuses on his breath, trying to drown the feeling, which is dumb of him, because he doesn't succeed at all and now he's aware of the sharp spike of pain in his side he's building at this speed and the fact that his shins are beginning to feel like they're on fire. He's still aware of Radek inside him. The feeling is still there, in his chest like a hard blot, one he can reach up and touch but he forces himself not to, because that's stupid. There's nothing physically there.

Within minutes he's far, far away from the infirmary and feels safe enough to stop, which he does in a nondescript, deserted hallway. His panting is still loud in his ears. He feels a brief moment of embarrassment – how idiotic it was to think he could outrun something like that. He can no more escape this feeling that he can ascend, and he presses one trembling hand against the wall of the city for support. It pulses beneath his fingers and he snatches the hand away as if it has been burned.

_Sapience_. Rodney stares wildly at the walls of the city. Atlantis is _alive_. There is an energy flow there, same as the one he still feels from Radek, the one he feels through himself. It's sound and touch and smell and feeling, woven in ways that make his heart flutter in his chest to comprehend it, because he is actually a part of the city, woven into the fabric like a strand of thread, just as he's woven into Radek and has walked away with a piece of the man and he feels claustrophobia rear its ugly head with all the suddenness and finesse of a raging bull.

He needs to be outside. The claustrophobia is reaching unbearable heights, rising like a rapidly flooding room he's trapped in and the hall feels as if it's pressing in. There is a balcony nearby, the knowledge is there lightning quick, and he stumbles towards it, feeling vaguely sick and noticing for the first time that his radio is speaking to him.

It's Sheppard. "_Rodney, I know you can hear me. Ignoring me isn't going to solve anything-"_ and he shuts it off with a projected mental thought, nausea roiling in his stomach and the image of facing anyone is unbearable.

His feet take him to a nondescript door which leads to a balcony outside. He waves his hand in front of the door crystals and the door slides open. A swift breeze greets him, rustling his hair and clothes, and he breathes. Practically hurtling out onto the balcony, desperate, he dives forward until he's at the edge and grasps the guard rail with his hands like a dying man scrambling for salvation. The railing is cold to the touch. Atlantis is spread out before him, majestic as ever, and the ocean continues endlessly beyond it. Blessed, blessed distance.

Rodney hunches over until his forehead is resting against the cold metal of the railing. He closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing, one deep breath after the other. He's still shaking and tries to make himself stop. _I'm not human anymore, no human could have done what I just did- the city is alive, actually alive, Radek is in me and he wont leave, _I'm _in me and I don't understand any of this-_

The scene in the infirmary plays in his mind like a movie clip stuck on repeat. Carson is looking at him with that horrible gaze and Elizabeth raises one hand to her mouth and says softly, "Rodney..."

Rodney swallows thickly. He opens his eyes, then blinks furiously as they start to burn. From unshed tears, he realizes, and swallows again. He lifts his head fractionally, the imprint of the guard-rail cool against his forehead, high enough to gaze down at his hands.

He's never understood it before, why the Ancients were so enthralled with ascension. What was the point, he wondered, of knowing the answer to everything? What was the point of existing, even on a higher plane, if you couldn't actually interact with everything you ever knew... to watch as nothing more than an observer, being unable to act as Atlantis fights a losing war, to watch his friends die one by one, never exchanging a single word, never changing a single thing... he's can't be sure of what it's like but that's what he imagines. How could anyone bear that? What was worth that price?

"It's all energy," he says aloud to himself and the words sound right. He can almost see it in his hands, which are held in front of his face with the endless ocean and spires of Atlantis as the backdrop. He can fathom the flow that travels through his whole body, to the tips of his fingers and back again and he flexes his hands, his mind churning. There are few ineffable truths to the universe – and even those are quickly dwindling the longer he's in the Pegasus Galaxy - but one that's held firm throughout it all is the law of equivalent exchange. Nothing is ever free. Everything has its price, measure for measure, forcing you to give back exactly what you take. You can sit around the table and haggle on how much you want to trade, but in the end there is the irrefutable fact that you started with a set amount and that's all there is to barter with. Conservation of energy. You cannot create or destroy; you simply mold what is already there. Rodney knows the price he's paying for this understanding of the energy and the ability to manipulate it.

He understands now, having felt Radek's still heart beneath his fingers. He realizes what exactly they found so appealing, why they seemed to be gods to so many lesser people.

This energy is everything. It's a mantra in his mind, like a blaring klaxon sounding over and over, everything, everything. It's power, unbelievable power, it's salvation and the ability to change the universe. He gazes out into the ocean and the spires of Atlantis jutting up like beacons of heaven and the comprehension of things formerly beyond him grows, like it has been by the hour, the minute, the second. Growing exponentially until it reaches the point where he can press his fingertips to flesh and know the energy there, the energy that's drifting away, reforming into something else. Walking into the infirmary and knowing that Radek is dying.

How incredible is it, that he doesn't want that energy to do that, so he calls it back, he commands it to come back, and it _does_, as readily as the 42,000th digit of pi is on the tip of his tongue before he barely acknowledges thinking about it.

It swarms under his hands and there are minute details, tiny almost insignificant errors in the energy, flaws, and he fixes them without knowing how. He makes the energy right and commands it to stay that way for a long, long time. He can _do _that.

The replay continues in his head; Radek draws a huge breath, the chest beneath his hands moving, the still heart beating, and Rodney pulls his hands back. God, he understands. He's trembling with it, because in that instant when Radek draws his first breath, he feels the energy. It's all around, it's everything, it's Elizabeth and Carson and Sheppard and it's_ him_. He realizes with horror that he can _unmake_ himself if he wanted to. He has that kind of control.

Ascension. He well and truly understands what's happening to him now.

The urge to run flares - he wants to escape the city, but as soon as the thought comes another horrible one follows, the realization that he can't escape it. The city isn't just energy, the _planet_ was energy, death, ascension, _everything_ was energy. He wants this understanding gone. He doesn't think he can live like this.

Granted, he doesn't have to bear this long because he's dying, but that's a whole other level of fear and trepidation that he doesn't want to acknowledge. When he dies... he knows what that's like because he felt it through Radek; his energy will disperse and reform into something else. He thinks that the energy and connections he feels now will still be there - a little bit of him becomes a part of this, a tiny bit becomes a part of that, still contained within that web of interconnections... it's never going to end. He's never going to escape it.

Ascension is the same horror, because you're still becoming energy, only retaining a consciousness, an awareness of that connection – existing on a higher plane and Rodney can barely comprehend the power that would be involved with that. God, if what he could do now was only the barest tip of the iceberg - and to be able to do nothing with that but watch...

The shaky sigh that escapes him feels like it came all the way up from the bottom of his feet. His head is pounding and he forces himself away from those thoughts with a monumental effort.

He doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want to deal with this by himself. Almost unconsciously he turns his radio back on with an offhand thought, wanting to hear Sheppard's voice.

The radio channel is silent and he flips through each one. Nothing on any channel.

Rodney exhales and the soft wind, smelling of a salty ocean, buffets his face, pulling at his jacket. Does he really want human contact right now? Can he deal with what he left behind in the infirmary?

He timidly reaches out with his mind. He's cautious at first – reading people's thoughts was an unconscious effort so far, so he's not sure what he's doing when he's actually concentrating on it – and very faintly, when he focuses on Sheppard, he feels Sheppard's mind and the barest hint of turmoil and worry and anger; a brief flash of Atlantis' hallways, a stained-glass window passing by in a blur...

He pulls back with the knowledge that Sheppard is looking for him. The concept of distance is not there though, so he doesn't know where Sheppard is. He wonders what the look on Sheppard's face will be like; if the Colonel will stare at him like he's not even Rodney anymore, and if he can bear that.

This is all too surreal. The infirmary seems like a dream.

His hands are curled around the guard rail again and through that connection he absently concentrates on the web of energy that he's identified as Atlantis. There is the faintest of whispers in the back of his mind, abstract and foreign, and its presence is too alien, not a comfort at all, so he draws away.

How close is Sheppard, he wonders. How soon will he have to face what he did? The uncertainly is gnawing away at him, stroking the fire of nausea that had almost gone out in his stomach. All the possibilities are in turmoil in his mind, all the accusations, the lack of understanding, and Rodney is afraid he's scared away his only lifeline that keeps him grounded. He keeps telling himself that he's being irrational, that they're not going to be afraid of him, that Sheppard is trailing Rodney out of concern and a desire to help.

He concentrates this time not on Sheppard's mind, but on Sheppard's physical body. It works, sort of, though he gets information that eerily reminds him of a butcher assessing a slab of meat – it's all fat content and weight and pointless medical information like blood pressure and cholesterol levels – it's freaky, but works, and Rodney pulls back. Sheppard is not nearby, he knows now, but is nonetheless moving steadily closer. It is both a comfort and a worry.

Using his mind like that is more taxing than Rodney originally gave credit, for weariness has settled between his shoulders and his headache has intensified, so he leans his weight against the guard rail, staring off into the distance.

Ascension. Radek. Dying.

Rodney wants to rip his hair out in frustration. He wishes he could bleach his mind and get rid of all of this, the advent of his genetic structure, the awareness of this energy flow and his ability to manipulate it. He wishes he could go back in time and never touch that damn machine. The price for this is too high, too high... he wants it gone. He wants it to escape-

Escape. It was a vague thought, but as soon as it floats through his mind it sears onto his brain like a brand. Escape. The energy escaping - the energy that is massive and brimming and overwhelming and he wants nothing more than to let it go. It's straining to be somewhere, he's not sure where, but somewhere other than inside Rodney and it's killing him.

_I'm almost there_, he knows. _I'm in the final stages of ascension_. _It should be possible._

The urge comes and he acts. In desperation he tries to see if he can let it go. He focuses every iota of thought onto the feeling of Radek beneath his hands, the energy unraveling, dispersing, fleeing... he imagines that it's himself, that he's coming apart at the seams, every awful emotion easing and falling away, every memory, every dream, every fear, every connection, separating, disassembling_, rising_...

His heart flutters in his chest, his vision tunnels, he gasps without hearing it because the world has faded into white noise and without warning he's on his knees, not feeling the pain of his weight crashing onto the ground, not feeling his breath coming fast like he's just run a marathon, feeling _nothing_, numb and nothing-

He reels for a moment in darkness, uncomprehending what has just happened, knowing only that time briefly lapsed, marked only by the impression of something impossibly vast and a mind consuming fear that carried no reason with it.

The darkness fades like a receding tide and the first thing he can feel is the ocean breeze on his face. He takes huge, shaking breaths. He bends over and places his hands on the balcony floor and that's cold too, like the guard rail. Energy... it's straining now, worse than ever. It's almost a physical pain, somewhere in his chest. His shaking is more pronounced. He curses his stupidity in experimenting. He's taking things too fast.

_I can't do it_. Adrenaline rushes through him like an avalanche, mind numbing horror at what he just tried to do, marked by terror that it didn't work. _I can't ascend._

This is still all beyond him. He's an idiot, he curses his stupidity in his mind, over and over. He chokes back something that could have been a laugh, or a sob – it's overwhelming, he's walking the tightrope of the scope of the universe, and he can't even control _himself._

He's scared. The understanding he has now is almost too much – he doesn't dare attempt to imagine what the knowledge granted by ascension would be like. The vast image of this cohesive energy – a scientific theory no longer, of that Rodney has no doubt – and his place in it... Either that or death; letting go, dispersing himself... where he is no longer whole, but bits and pieces, like the Replicators; replicated infinite times, in infinite fragments of energy that disperse and reform and are still whole– god, he imagines that it's been that way since the dawn of creation and it's all infinite forms, infinite consciousnesses and experiences and it's all contained, all infinite, inside _everything_, every little tiny piece, and he realizes where the feeling of the yawning, unending vastness came from, because the more he follows that train of thought the more overwhelming it becomes and the harder his heart pounds.

Rodney groans. _I can't do this. _It's too much. Too much to think about. It's beyond him to comprehend, to ascend – Elizabeth was right. Ancients dedicated their whole lives to reaching ascension and therefor had ample time to sort out these conflicting thoughts and be at peace with them. It would take Rodney a long, long time to be at peace with any of this and he's simply out of time.

"McKay!"

Rodney starts - the door to the balcony must have opened without him realizing it and Sheppard is at his side with alarming suddenness.

"God, McKay, don't _scare _me like that-" Sheppard says and kneels next to where Rodney is blinking owlishly up at him from the floor.

Rodney recoils. Heart still pounding, Sheppard is suddenly too there, too intrusive. "Go away," he croaks, closes his eyes and imagines that he's alone and hopes that Sheppard will comprehend and leave. He doesn't need this, not now, not when he came so close, not when he's still gathering the pieces of himself back together from trying to let them go.

Fat chance of that. Sheppard is radiating emotions like a sun; concern, trepidation, fear, uncertainty... Rodney is receiving it like a god damn antenna and he struggles to put a wall between himself and the Colonel before the unwanted input drives him mad. "Please, for the love of god,_ leave_," he pleads and he feels more than sees Sheppard draw back indignantly.

"I'm not going anywhere." Sheppard says. "You're white as a sheet and you're trembling – what the hell happened to you, McKay? Is it what you did to Radek?" When Rodney doesn't answer, Sheppard says, "I'm calling Beckett-" and he reaches one hand up to his radio.

Rodney acts without thinking. He is floored by the thought of seeing Beckett again or the infirmary or Radek- his hand darts up and wraps around Sheppard's wrist, halting the motion. It was a stupid mistake, one Rodney will look back at and wince. As soon as his skin makes contact with Sheppard the connection forms and Rodney reels with the surge of knowledge the touch suddenly provokes, his protective walls crumbling like so much sand though his fingers – Sheppard is intrusive, his mind is pouring out information like a broken dam that Rodney is at the bottom off and he can't escape.

Rodney receives an incomprehensible jumble of information and emotions, heart rate, worry, breathless, concern, fear – it hits him like a sledgehammer and he recoils like he's been burned, gasping, heart pounding wildly in his chest and Sheppard's presence intruding on every inch of his mind.

Sheppard snatches his hand back, an expression of alarm flitting across his face, "Jesus, Rodney, what-"

Rodney flinches. Stupid, stupid, it was a stupid mistake-

"Touching is bad," Rodney rasps, and Sheppard is staring at him like he's realized that Rodney is made of glass and is going to shatter at the first rough wind.

"No fucking kidding, McKay," Sheppard snaps, in a voice that clearly wants answers. "What the hell did you just do?"

How Rodney is going to explain this is beyond him and he doesn't particularly feel like trying. "Nothing," he replies angrily, breathlessly. He has no idea what Sheppard felt and doesn't particularly care. Sheppard is currently a huge blip on his energy radar and he's struggling just being this close. He's not in the mood to keep Sheppard in close proximity longer that absolutely necessary.

"The hell it was nothing!" Sheppard 's eyes are simmering in anger. "There's something very wrong with you, McKay, and I want to know what it is."

"You caught me off guard." Rodney replies hollowly.

"McKay, all I did was _touch_ you. And you-"

"Yes!" Rodney throws his hands up, "Super-sensitive being here. Were you not standing in the room when I touched Zelen-" Rodney blanches, trailing off, and Sheppard rocks slightly back on his haunches.

Rodney continues in a quiet, weary voice, "I don't know what's happening to me. I'm controlling it as best as I can, but I wasn't thinking clearly. I though I had it blocked off, I thought you were safe..."

Maybe it is his choice of words. Maybe Rodney isn't keeping as tight a reign on his emotions as he thinks he is. Whatever the reason, Sheppard suddenly leans forward insistently and says, "I would never hurt you, McKay. Ever."

They are both surprised at the vehemence in Sheppard's voice.

Rodney is momentarily speechless – Sheppard really did sound miserably apologetic and Rodney admits grudgingly, almost despite himself, "I know that. Really, I do. You just..." Rodney fumbles for words and finishes lamely, "caught me by surprise."

There is a pause that Rodney doesn't pretend isn't awkward, and he quickly redirects the conversation away. "Though was it utterly necessary for you to ninja onto my balcony? Have you ever heard of the word privacy? Consideration, maybe?" Rodney asks, assuming a mildly cross tone.

Sheppard raises an eyebrow. "I didn't 'ninja' onto this balcony, Rodney, I used the door. Which whooshes when it opens and I thought you had super hearing."

"Whooshes?" Rodney asks faintly and it takes a monumental effort not to sputter out a million different withering retorts.

"Yeah, whooshes." Sheppard says defensively, "Like," and precedes to make a whooshing sound with his mouth, complete with waving hand motion.

Rodney tries but doesn't quite manage to suppress a snort. "That sounds more like a lightsaber than a door opening. Leave the miming to the professionals, Colonel, I think my super hearing just heard Charlie Chaplin roll over in his grave."

Sheppard mutters something under his breath that Rodney clearly hears.

"_I'm _a padawan?" Rodney sputters, "What, you think you're the damn Jedi master? You spent six months with Ancients trying to ascend and I don't see you spouting any words of wisdom about balance and becoming one with the Force! You're the abysmal failure, not me!"

Sheppard raises his hands in mock surrender, "Fine, fine, I freely admit that I was never good at that whole balance thing and dropped out of the Academy. The dark side is strong within me."

"Kicked out, more like," Rodney mutters, "and I'd definitely qualify as a Jedi Master, thank you very much."

A pause. "What do I get to be, then?" Sheppard asks, rocking back on his heels like a petulant child, and Rodney rolls his eyes.

"God, you're so juvenile. If it makes you feel any better, you'd make a fantastic ewok-"

Sheppard makes an indignant noise and Rodney leans back, smiling apologetically. "Alright, alright, you can settle for Chewbacca, if it doesn't wound whatever shreds of pride you have left. You two have a lot in common, actually," Rodney begins to tick them off on his fingers, "You're bad ass, you blow a lot of stuff up, you fly cool ships that you then precede to break spectacularly." favoring Sheppard with a shrewd glance, Rodney continues, "Which, granted, you attempt to fix, albeit with all the finesse of hitting it with a blunt object and yelling incoherently. Your redeeming factor is that you have enough sense to leave the real work to the brains of the outfit while you stand in the back and look intimidating. The unruly hair is just the final nail in the coffin..."

Sheppard peers at him suspiciously, "Was there a complement buried in there somewhere?"

Rodney holds up a finger, "Ah, you must address me as Master or I shall reveal nothing."

"You wish," Sheppard mutters just loud enough for Rodney to hear. "If you ask me, you're more Darth Vader than anything."

"Oh har de har har."

There's another brief silence and Sheppard visibly gathers himself before asking, "You ready to go back?"

Momentarily not comprehending, Rodney stares at Sheppard before the implication of the question sinks in. Something like fear courses through him, "Absolutely not." The infirmary is the last place in the universe Rodney wants to go.

Sheppard pulls on his I'm-the-fucking-Colonel-and-you're-going-to-obey face, but Rodney has long been immune.

"There's no even remotely fathomable reason why I need to go back there." Rodney protests.

Sheppard points at where Rodney is sitting on the floor and says in even tones, "You were practically passed out there, McKay. Your face is as pale as a ghost and I can see you shaking from here."

Rodney crosses his arms defensively, knowing Sheppard is absolutely right. He can feel himself trembling and he can't make it stop. "I'm fine," he says anyway.

Sheppard doesn't believe him. Rodney knows as much, just as he knows that he failed to convince Sheppard with their brief back and forth. It was too strained, too unnatural. He suddenly knows exactly how to convince Sheppard and takes a precious moment to gather himself before leaning forward, lightning quick, and once more grabbing Sheppard's wrist.

Sheppard jerks in surprise, "What are you...," but the words trail off.

The connection is warm and nothing else. Rodney has control now and shuts everything out but the sensation. "See? I'm fine."

The look Sheppard gives him is only slightly grudging. "Still seeing Beckett."

Rodney grits his teeth. "Or what?" He's willing to fight this to the death and he hopes Sheppard can see that in his eyes.

"Or nothing. I'm asking you to do this for _me_."

That catches Rodney off guard. They stare at each other, neither backing down. Rodney has time to contemplate the offer. He doesn't want to estrange the Colonel. Not now. The thought of doing this alone, of having no one to fall back on, was more terrifying than going back to the infirmary.

It's an easy decision in the end. Lips twisting in distaste, Rodney lifts a hand to be helped up and Sheppard stands and grasps Rodney's wrist (nothing passes between them) and pulls him upright. When Rodney reaches his feet, he wavers uncertainly for a single damning moment, lightheaded, before Rodney releases the grip hastily, his cheeks reddening, and Sheppard looks away.

* * *

-to be continued 


	2. The First Faint Glimmer

Author's Note: Still plowing along. There'll be a short hiatus before the next chapter - my ship is getting underway for a short jaunt off the east coast and I'll be unable to post until we pull back into port. Hopefully I'll have the next chapter polished off by then – I'll manage to find myself a beta-reader one of these days.

* * *

**Clear Blue Skies**

**By Bremm**

**Chapter 2**

**Z**elenka is mercifully absent from the infirmary. Rodney had already been going over in his mind what he was going to do if the scientist was still under Beckett's care and was unable to come up with anything that wasn't horrible awkward. He is relieved beyond measure to find the beds vacant when Sheppard guides him firmly into the infirmary. Beckett is also absent and Sheppard points towards the empty beds and glares. Rodney rolls his eyes but recognizes the steely look in the Colonel's eyes and perches himself one of the infirmary beds. Let it never be said that Rodney McKay couldn't pick and choose his battles. Sheppard leaves to go find Carson and Rodney stares off into the distance.

It happened right here. Rodney suppresses a shudder and tries to stop the relentless replay in his mind. Radek was right on one of these beds, he was dead _right there_. Right where Rodney stood and proved he wasn't human anymore. Right over there is where he ran. Elizabeth stood on that spot, and Sheppard there. All the props were set up and the scened played out and Rodney could almost hear Radek's sharp intake of breath, the beating heart sounding like a drum, echoing off the walls...

Rodney glances down at his hands, flexes them. Puts them in his lap and tears his gaze away.

Sheppard and Beckett finally appear a few suspicious minutes longer than necessary. Rodney suspects that he was being spied upon and quells the brief surge of anger. Upon reaching Rodney, the first thing Beckett does is poke him hesitantly.

"It was one time, Carson, and only because I was caught off guard. Stop acting like your finger is a needle and I'm a balloon." Rodney grumbles. He makes sure he is radiating impatience like a palpable aura.

Beckett huffs, but doesn't deign respond. He runs Rodney through a short series of tests, silently and his movements stiff, Sheppard watching over his shoulder like a hawk. At the end of it, Beckett clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

"I'm fine." Rodney says crossly before Beckett can say anything. The doctor does not appear to be amused. Rodney tries to ignore the fact that Beckett has yet to meet his eyes.

"Your blood pressure through the roof and your heart is beating a mile a minute. Forgive me if I'm a little disbelieving."

Rodney glares at Beckett incredulously, "Are you _kidding_? A monkey with a stethoscope could have come up with that diagnoses. I have a thousand new inputs pouring into my brain with all the grace of a speeding freight train; I'm surprised I haven't keeled over from a heart attack already, let alone a brain aneurysm."

Oops. Rodney's brain-mouth disconnect is getting the better of him and he mentally kicks himself. Beckett is in full mother hen mode and his chances of getting out of the infirmary without a long battery of tests is plummeting by the minute. Rodney thinks to himself that if he spends much longer in here the echo of Radek's heartbeat will (even though Rodney knows it's all in his head) drive him mad.

Sure enough, Beckett has that worried, angry expression on his face he usually reserves for when someone is under his care with a perplexing and deadly ailment. Sheppard is standing behind Beckett, looking equally disapproving, thumbs locked into his pockets and in his defensive, 'bored but on edge' stance. Rodney isn't fooled. He shoots Sheppard a dark look that clearly reads _this is all your fault_.

"So I take it he's not all right to go then, Doc?" Trust Sheppard to have a one-track mind. Rodney throws him a betrayed glare, and Sheppard raises one eyebrow as if to say _it's your own damn fault._

Beckett merely deepens his frown and doesn't answer, fiddling intently with one of the monitor displays perched next to Rodney's bed. "Doc?" Sheppard prompts again, and Beckett swivels with a jerk, as if he'd forgotten that the Colonel was there. "Is McKay good to go or not?"

"Certainly not." Beckett says indignantly. "At the rate he's going, he _will _have a heart attack if he's not careful, which I highly doubt he's going to be."

Rodney sputters, "Carson, that's ridiculous! I'm not going to spend the rest of my remarkably short life in this infirmary on the off chance I die I little _sooner_than planned!"

Beckett draws back at the vehemence in Rodney's voice. "Rodney, be reasonable-"

Rodney hops off the bed and takes an angry step towards Beckett, because dammit, he's tired of everyone interfering. Their bumbling attempts to help, so far all of which seemed to be to no more than idiotic motions they needed to go through to wipe their hands free of all guilt in this matter, fuels his anger. "No, _you _be reasonable-" but the rest of his words choke off because he can't quite bring himself to say them. He wants to say that he's dying, he wants Carson to know that it's hopeless, because he _should_know that, they should _all_know that-

Sheppard is looking at Rodney like the physicist has grown a second head, holding up both hands as if to ward off the downward spiral of the situation, "Woah, McKay, let's all calm down for a minute."

For his part, Beckett is staring wordlessly at Rodney with a startled, hurt expression on his face. Still not meeting his eyes. "I'm just worried, Rodney..." he says softly.

Rodney is bristling with bottled in anger, and he snarls, "I know that, I'm not an idiot. You just have to understand that there's nothing you can do for me," one finger jabs accusingly towards Beckett's chest, "which you clearly still don't get. The sooner you realize it, the better."

"I can make you more comfortable, at least-"

Rodney can be fast when he wants to be. One hand darts forward, lightning quick, and latches onto Beckett's wrist. Rodney's stare is intense, Beckett's eyes widen and his body stands up straight, rigid, mouth open in surprise.

Rodney pours the knowledge into Carson. He wasn't sure he could do that, but as soon as he makes the physical connection between himself and the doctor the ability is there. He takes it all, the pain from the headache, the disorientation from the constant influx of hyper-aware sensations and a thousand thoughts that aren't his, the fear of his inability to ascend and the pain of his wildly-beating heart as he leans against the balcony railing, feeling the wind of the ocean on his face and the life within himself slowly dying like a guttering flame. And, because he really wants Carson to understand, he lets out a hint of the awareness of the yawning expanse of energy healing Radek has awakened in him and the incredible amount of power available at his finger tips, steadfastly ignoring the surprise, hurt, and confusion Carson is sending back in tidal waves.

Sheppard grabs Beckett by the back on his shirt and pulls him backwards, severing the connection. Beckett staggers back, breathing heavily and one trembling hand presses against his chest and Rodney bumps into the infirmary bed, using it to steady himself.

Sheppard catches Beckett and places a steady hand on the doctor's upper arm. He looks at Rodney accusingly over his shoulder, hisses furiously, "McKay!"

Beckett has his eyes screwed shut, his breath rasping in his throat, "God, Rodney..." he practically whimpers, and Rodney stares at the doctor impassively. He feels slightly guilty for doing it, but it's easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission and he wants some understanding from _someone_, instead of their bumbling attempts to do the impossible. Their inability to grasp the magnitude of what it happening to him is becoming increasingly aggravating and depressing. When he looks at Beckett, all he can see are the blue eyes staring back at him as if he were a stranger. The chasm between Rodney and the rest of the world was widening and he's terrified the other side might become unreachable.

"I'm dying, Carson." he says quietly and the statement hangs in the air of the infirmary.

Beckett opens his eyes and stares at him, his breath still coming in pants, his eyes glassy. Sheppard is still angry and those furious eyes bore into Rodney. "McKay..." The word is deathly quiet. "I want to believe that I can trust you with the power that you have, but-"

"You can." Rodney interrupts quickly. "I didn't hurt him, if that's what you're insinuating." A pause, because there is no belief in Sheppard's face and he can practically hear the mental_ I don't believe you_ swimming in his head, knows Sheppard is replaying the balcony in his head, but he doesn't dare read Sheppard's mind. That ability is like a floodgate now, one that is increasingly difficult to close after it's been opened. He has to be careful.

"I swear to you that I'll never hurt anyone..." Rodney adds in a small voice, because that lack of trust hurts. Arcturus is fresh in his mind, it always will be, and he remembers how much that lack of trust hurt their friendship and how long it took to fix. He doesn't think he can handle that all over again in his present situation. "You can trust me." There is a hint of desperation in his voice and Rodney bites his lip.

"Colonel..." Beckett says softly and Sheppard turns to look at him. "It's alright, lad, really. It was just... unsettling. No damage done."

"Still, Doc, he shouldn't have done that without your permission." He is angry and unsettled_ -damn_ did McKay move fast- and Sheppard couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his chest. One too many slip-ups, one too many things that didn't feel right. The 'protect my team' urge was kicking in overdrive. Suspicious and wanting answers, he asks Beckett, "What did he do?"

Beckett stares at Rodney, who stares back, almost daringly, and Beckett says, "I don't know. But..." Beckett looks like he's struggling internally with himself. "But, you're free to go, Rodney."

Sheppard blinks, obviously not expecting that. He opens his mouth to argue, wanting more of an answer. Rodney however, jumping on the opportunity, gives in to his constant desire to run.

Rodney pushes away from the infirmary bed, the edge of which he'd been clutching in a death grip. He darts out of the infirmary and doesn't look back.

* * *

Sheppard watches Rodney's retreating back for the second time that day and heaves a sigh. He didn't like the look in Rodney's eyes; hasn't liked what he read there for quite some time now. To say that this was outside his realm of understanding was an understatement. He could no more fathom what was happening in Rodney's head than he ever could, but he knew enough to be concerned.

"You shouldn't be angry with him."

Sheppard turns to look at Beckett, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not angry."

Beckett's lips twist into a light frown. "Could've fooled me..." he mutters and his eyes dart in the direction Rodney left.

Another sigh, because maybe he _is_ a little bit angry and feels inexplicably guilty because of it. Briefly entertaining following after Rodney, he decides to go with his gut feeling and let the man be alone for a while. Beckett shifts beside him, discomfort playing across his face, and Sheppard regards the doctor in contemplation. "He did the same thing, when he touched you." Sheppard states, not a question.

"Thing?" Beckett asks curiously.

Waving a hand vaguely, "I don't know how to describe it. It happened when I touched McKay. It was weird – I knew things, could feel things completely foreign to me that obviously belonged to him. Like he was..." Sheppard fumbles for the word. "I don't know, projecting. I guess it was two ways, and it must've been a lot worse on his end, if his reaction was any indication."

Beckett runs a hand up and down one of his arms, as if chilled. "Something like that, aye."

Sheppard scratches the back of his head, not liking the feeling of helplessness. He's reminded of when he found McKay on the balcony. The distant stare off into the ocean that had been on the man's face. Eyes faded and distant, utterly disconnected. Every time he pictures it in his mind, when McKay turns towards him and for a split second there's no recognition in those eyes, he feels... well, he feels scared.

"Keep an eye on him, John?"

Sheppard swallows the lump that's suddenly formed in his throat. "I'm not good at this," he says roughly and can't meet the doctor's eyes.

Beckett is suddenly very interested in the floor. Sheppard coughs, feeling embarrassed. Sheppard knows there is a kindred spirit in Beckett, knows the same concern for Rodney is present. The same frustration, the same fear. The knowledge should help, but it doesn't. Sheppard still feels useless, still feels alone. He really, _really_isn't good at this. Though, how anyone is supposed to be good at watching a friend die...

He glances at Beckett out of the corner of his eye. Beckett gaze is downward, staring but not seeing. There is a frown on his face, a grimace more like, and Sheppard can't help but ask, "What did he show you?"

Beckett hesitates, the inward struggle palpable. His eyes continue to bore into the floor as if it held all the answers. Eventually, he shrugs his shoulders and says in a pained voice, "That there's nothing I can do."

Which, Sheppard muses, is probably what hurts the most. It's a feeling he knows only too well.

* * *

Rodney drowns himself in work. He shuts out people's thoughts, manages to dial down his heightened senses to where they're only marginally debilitating, and concentrates on the things he's most comfortable with.

Science. It's presence is like an old, inviting friend. One he's gotten to know exponentially better in the past few hours. It was almost like rediscovering it, so grand is his view of it now. What he knew before was nothing compared to the knowledge that was currently flooding through him like a raging torrent. He can't write it down fast enough. He finds him old methods of understanding science through math inadequate, to he invents a new math that makes more sense. It floors him for an instant, the magnitude of what he's doing, but excitement pushes him on past it, and he looses himself in equations, calculations, and quantum mechanics like he never dared dream.

He becomes gradually aware of Elizabeth's presence in a way that's almost disturbing. Sure, he hears her footsteps long before she's even near where he is, but he's okay with that – he's moved into a lab as far away from people as he could manage, to get rid of the claustrophobia and discomfort caused by his proximity to large numbers of life-signs and the overwhelming inputs they cause, so her soft footfalls are easy to pick out. No, the disturbing part is that he's become a sort of life signs detector himself that he _can't turn off,_ because he can actually_feel _her presence as she draws closer no matter how hard he tries to block it. Just as he knows Radek is working with the Ancient machine, Sheppard is in the mess with Ronon, and Teyla is in her room.

"Wait just one second," he tells her as she steps hesitantly into the lab. She stills just inside the entrance as he checks a few things he's working on, trying to wrap up his thoughts. Well, he can't really wrap up thoughts in his current state; they're like obnoxious dominoes at this point. Once he tips the first one, the next one falls, and the next, and there's no end. One thought leads to another and another and another and he just tries to keep up.

It takes actual willpower to halt everything that's going through his head and focus his attention on her. He messes up at first and focuses too much, so he can hear her breathing and the steady thump of her heart like a loud drum in his ear and the concern for him that's forefront in her mind hits him like a hammer blow. He winces and draws back, trying to distance himself enough to bring his awareness of her into some semblance of a comfort zone. His ability to control is getting harder and he tries to push the anxiety of the revelation away.

It takes him longer than he likes, but eventually he manages to shut it all out and slow down the dominoes enough to have a normal conversation. "Elizabeth." he says and forces himself to give her a weak smile.

"Rodney." she says softly, the concern evident. Her eyes travel the white-boards he's covered in what must appear to her as nonsensical scribblings, moves on to the five computers he has set up that he realizes with a start he's still mentally typing on. With an effort, he manages to make himself stop. He's multitasking to almost excessive extremes; working on so many levels he's stopped being consciously aware of them all.

"Rodney," she says again and she's hesitant. Lost, almost. She has her hands grasped together in front of her, kneading them as she searched for words. "Are you sure this is how..."

"I want to spend the last moments of my life? Well, Elizabeth, I don't really have much of a choice, now do I?" He hadn't meant to sound so bitter, but it emerges that way anyway. She frowns, almost guiltily, and he rushes to console her, "No-, I mean, this is what I _want _to be doing. I'm okay with it, really."

She still looks guilty. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Her inner struggle is obvious, but Rodney isn't sure if that's because he's hyper-aware or if she's more undone than usual. The latter thought is almost touching. "If you came here to stop me, Elizabeth, you're wasting your time. There's nothing I'd rather be doing."

"What are you working on?" she asks almost hesitantly and has that familiar cringing look on her face that people get around him, like it's against their better judgment to ask him to explain something because they obviously expect an undecipherable, endless answer.

He was always vaguely annoyed at that, _he's perfectly capable of dumbing things down, thankyouverymuch, _so he replies shortly, "I invented a new math."

Her eyes widen and glance over at the whiteboards. "Really?" she asks incredulously. "That's..."

Rodney waves a hand, "Vaguely incredible, yes. It will change the way we understand the universe."

Somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if anyone other than himself will understand what he's creating. His view of the universe has shifted with the advent of his genetic advancement but sometimes he forgets that the people around him don't have his vantage point. He understands the scope and interconnection of the universe on a level he was previously unable to achieve. The math that propelled his years of study in physics was adequate for his previous level of understanding, but for the first time in his life he's realized he allowed math to shape the universe, instead of the other way around. Now that his understanding of the universe grows exponentially the more he dissects it, the more it becomes apparent that there is an inherent flaw in the math he knew. Too many things don't add up, to many things are impossible. So he rewrites it, reinvents it, and it reflects the truths he now knows in his heart.

"Rodney, I still think you can ascend if you give it a try."

To be honest his thoughts had wandered, so her statement startles him. "Pardon?"

Her tone is not quite exasperated, "Ascension, Rodney."

"Oh, yeah," he waves a hand pointlessly, "right." A pause, then what she said sinks in, _really_ sinks in, and he feels like he's swallowed a drop of lead. He's briefly back on the balcony, with the wind buffeting his face, and he's trying to tear himself apart, trying to ascend, and he's failing. Rodney blinks, swallows the bitter lump in his throat and doesn't say anything else.

"I know you don't think that you can do it, Rodney. That much is obvious." Her hands lay flat on the table with all his computers and she leans towards him. "You're selling yourself short." she says frankly, and Rodney blinks at the tone.

"Elizabeth, I can't-"

"Can't what?" she cuts him off firmly. "Try? It's possible, despite your thoughts on the matter. You're physically able to ascend – we've ascertained that the machine did as its design intended. All that's left now is the mental component, and Rodney, what do you have to lose? What harm is there in trying? I don't see why you're not willing to explore this possibility."

Rodney opens his mouth to tell her exactly how much he knows that path is hopeless, a dozen different scathing retorts on the tip of his tongue, but checks himself. "It's impossible.," he tells her shortly.

"It's not." she retorts, but Rodney is shaking his head.

"No, Elizabeth, I appreciate your faith in me, but you're wrong. Why did Ancients build that machine in the first place? We already know that the Ancients were far more advanced than we are now and yet they put forth the effort to invent and create machines like this because they _still _weren't capable of reaching ascension on their own. God, how can you expect me to achieve in days what took them generations to accomplish? Physically able, yes. But mentally? I don't think I'll ever be able to achieve that."

"We're not going to just write it off as impossible." She is earnest, her eyes searching his face. "We'll find a way. We'll work on it, we'll _try._"

He can't fathom where her certainty comes from. Frankly, it's baffling and he's reminded painfully of Carson's inability to comprehend and the measures he took to finally drive the point home. Somehow, he can't imagine himself doing the same to Elizabeth. Feeling left with no options, Rodney licks his lips and manages to ask in a tight voice, "How? Elizabeth, I have no idea where to begin."

She straightens, threads her fingers together and gestures with the makeshift net they've formed. "You have to..." she reddens almost imperceptibly, "release your burdens."

The snort escapes him before he can stop it and she flashes him an embarrassed smile. "I know, I know, but Rodney, I'm serious. The Ancients dedicated their whole lives towards achieving the goal of ascension. You have to imagine their outlook on life, their lifestyle. The things they viewed differently than we do because they're all things that hold you back. Things like love, regret, hope for the future... the things that define who _we _are."

Her voice is so earnest, "I understand how difficult it would be to change that, I really do. In order to ascend you have to release your hold on all of those things. Or rather, the hold those things have on you. It's daunting, terrifying even..." She regards him, her brunette hair framing her delicate face, her red lips pressed into a thin, determined line, and he stares at her, suddenly captivated by her beauty. It's almost painful.

"I... I don't think I can do that in the time I have left." he says helplessly and he feels the faint ebbs of hope wax and wane, at war with almost mindless desperation.

"Why?"

The question is simple and Rodney is briefly thrown by it. There's a million reasons, yet he can't manage to voice a single one. Eventually he stutters out, "Those aren't things I _want _to get rid of. Spend my last moments of life without love, without hope? I'm-"

_too afraid_

"-not capable of doing that."

"Daniel Jackson had to chose between death or ascension. I can't image he was any more ready than you are." Elizabeth reminds him archly.

He already had his mouth open to shoot down her next argument and at her words his jaw closes with a snap.

He'd forgotten about Daniel Jackson. Speechless, the possibilities crash through his mind like a tidal wave and he's briefly floored by them. Elizabeth takes advantage of his lapse.

She reaches forward and wraps her fingers gently around his wrist. He pulls back almost automatically – Carson is still fresh in his mind – but her grip, despite being loose and easily breakable, holds him in place for some unfathomable reason. He catches a flash of warm reassurance before his walls are in place. She can feel him trembling, he knows she can, and her grips tightens reassuringly.

"It can be done." her voice tells him, sounding clear but far away. He's thinking so hard and fast the room feels disconnected, "You just have to believe." she continues, "I've never seen you back down from a problem when there was _any_ possibility of a solution, so I don't see why you're so determined to do that here. We're all willing to help you, Rodney, in whatever way we can. You just have to let us, and believe." Her words are simple and frank, spoken with conviction.

The room is back into sharp focus. He hears her words but they ring uselessly in his ears. Hollow and useless because the possibilities being dissected in his mind yield no solution; he has yet to fathom any scenario in which there is more than an utterly remote possibility, even factoring in Jackson, so her firm belief in his ability to see this through is baffling to him. Everyone is so positive that he's going to find the magical solution to the problem at the last minute and it only fuels his frustration. There's a tiny voice in his head that cannot be ignored and it's telling him that it's hopeless. And he believes it, believes it more than he believes her. Despair creeping into his voice, he says, "He had help."

Momentarily confused, Elizabeth asks, "Who?"

"Daniel Jackson. He had help ascending because he wasn't able to do it on his own."

This seems to catch her off guard. "You're not Daniel-" she argues.

"No," gently cutting her off, "I'm not."

"Rodney-"

He jerks his hand up, cutting her off again, and she looks affronted. Then, catching the look on Rodney's face, she asks in a voice tinged with worry, "Rodney?"

_He had help_.

His stare is wide when he looks at Elizabeth. "He had help."

Her head cocks slightly to the side in confusion, "Daniel?"

"He had help!" he tells her excitedly and the possibilities are being reassessed. He wants to kick himself. How had it never occurred to him? Jackson had help ascending from an Ancient – it's been done before. Ancients have helped ascend countless people; people who were no more ready or capable than he was.

He's struck by an idea – blindsided by it really. Snapping his fingers, he draws himself up, eyes bright.

"You have an idea." she says and her voice is warm and amused.

"Yes!" he tells her breathlessly and his body turns in the direction of the door almost without thought. He's about to take off running but manages to remember at the last second that it might somehow be misconstrued as rude to just run out Elizabeth. He looks at her, so excited he somehow can't manage to tell her in words that he needs to leave and _now_.

She understands without him needing to explain. "Go," she tells him simply and he flashes her a grateful smile.

He's in the threshold of the door when she suddenly says, voice tight, "Wait." With an effort he pauses, long enough for her to tell him, "You can do this, Rodney."

His throat thickens at the steely look of determination in her eyes. He swallows reflexively. He suddenly believes her. He's not sure why, when his mind tells him without a shadow of doubt that she is wrong and that this is impossible, but he believes her.

* * *

-to be continued 


	3. Ovid

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Life in the Navy does not dictate a reliable work schedule, that's fer damn sure.

* * *

**Clear Blue Skies**

**By Bremm **

**Chapter 3**

**M**oving through the chair interface was like wading through murky, thick water and trying to discern what was beneath the surface. He moved through it on uncertain footing, the interface pushing and tugging at him, its wild current pulling and giving information with all the finesse and force of a raging sea. Each grain of data was hidden beneath the powerful chaos of the infinite and elusive and Rodney usually floundered helplessly, trying to sort through the undecipherable mess that was hell-bent on ignoring every plea for information Rodney mentally broadcasts.

He'd think _shields_ and the interface would, like a child trying to please a parent, thrust before him every bit of information even remotely applicable to the word shield and a few things that weren't, and Rodney would wrestle with the massive amount of data and try to sort through the tangled mess, straining to make the chair understand that he wanted_ the shield code _and nothing else, but it never worked. The amount of concentration it normally took for Rodney to navigate the chair interface was phenomenal as a result – he always emerged at the end with a pounding headache and a rabid desire for peace and quiet.

When Rodney walks into the chair room, he doesn't approach the dais that supports the chair with his usual trepidation. When he sits down and the chair happily lights up under him like a Christmas tree, it is with utter calmness that he moves as if to lean back and the chair obeys, reclining, and the interface leaps to life in his mind.

The interface is different. Different than it was an hour ago when he breezed through the interface, making all the necessary changes to improve the city in every way he could. When he did that it was pretty much the same as it had always been for him, the only difference being that it was no longer so murky and uncertain and he was able to navigate easier. The information wasn't as overwhelming, but the gene in his body was still artificial and he couldn't control the information that came – forcing him, as always, to merely sort through what the chair decided to give him.

Rodney did not have that problem now. He must have crossed some invisible threshold between then and now – more Ancient and less human, or maybe a gene that was artificial no longer - either way, the change was startling,

The chair was like... Rodney can't really compare it to anything at first; the only thing that comes eventually to mind is flying in space.

He is weightless, the interface spread out before him like little stars of information floating in space, bright pinpricks against the black, where all he had to do was reach for one, think about one, and it was instantaneously at the tip of his fingers. At the same time it was still a struggle, moving through an ocean that extended to endless horizons with jerky, uncoordinated movements, because it was _too_ easy and Rodney has trouble maintaining his position when even the slightest thought moved him with dizzying speeds.

Rodney grits his teeth and he thinks _ascension._

He's torn into pieces. He probably would have screamed if he'd been able to – but he loses all physical comprehension as he's swept away in a billion tiny currents, exploding into trails of thought, rushing from one bit of data to the next and the next and the next; everything to do with ascension and all its countless correlations. Like the dominoes that tipped each other over in his mind, one after the other, the chair interfaces propels him from one fragment of data to the next, each minutely related to the information he asked for– the problem being that every bit of information he seeks is connected to a dozen other things, and those to a dozen _other _things, and he unconsciously follows each and every trail of thought he comes to, branching and branching and branching until the downpour of information into his head is so strong and overwhelming that it flows through his mind like acid, too fast to comprehend and spiraling out of control but he is still somehow able to see all of it, hear all of it, he has no _choice – _his mind is operating on so many levels, processing so many strands of thought; all these connections are forming and he can no more stop it than he can stop thinking and comprehending-

"_McKay!"_

He barely hears it, off in the distance. The call does not repeat; instead, an indeterminable time later, a pair of hands seize him by the jacket and haul him bodily out of the chair.

His breath is coming so fast, his heart pounding so hard, that he's light headed and all semblance of balance and coordination flees him. He falls awkwardly into the hands that pulled him from the chair, his weight sending them both tipping backwards and tumbling onto the floor.

It's Sheppard. "_Rodney!_" he hisses between his teeth as he stumbles to his knees and fists his hand in the back of Rodney's shirt, pulling Rodney into a sitting position. Rodney stares at him with dazed eyes.

"What?" he mumbles as he tries to rearrange his brain back to some semblance of normal. Stupid, how mind-numbingly stupid, he's actually too far gone to use the chair, his mind too overwhelming a place with no control, no control at all-

Sheppard is shaking. "The _hell _were you doing?"

Rodney sluggishly tilts his head to the side and peers at Sheppard, a little incomprehensibly, and says, "Looking through the database." His words sound like they're coming from far away.

"You aught to try and breathe while you're doing that!"

Rodney presses a hand on each side of this head and closes his eyes, breathing through his nose and willing the world to stop spinning. "What are you talking about?" he whispers.

"Breathing, McKay. It's a function required by humans to keep themselves alive. You were doing a very remarkable impression of someone forgetting that." Sheppard voice is both harsh and shakes around the edges.

"… I was breathing. What the hell are you talking about?"

But he isn't sure. He can't remember that while he was in the interface, like he'd kind of forgotten that he'd had a physical body. It had seemed so unnecessary...

"You're forbidden from using the chair." Sheppard breathes, his voice still trembling with some emotion Rodney is too disoriented to identify.

He feels a flash of indignation through the turmoil of emotions, "I need to."

"To do what?" Sheppard asks. The wall is back in place and his voice is carefully restrained.

Rodney waves a hand vaguely in the air, "I need to access the databases. This is the fastest way and I don't exactly have a lot of time."

"Well, tough. You're not using the chair anymore." Sheppard repeats, his tone filled with deadly finality.

The world has started to right itself – Rodney no longer feels like he's going to give this afternoon's lunch to the floor, but he's sure his balance is still completely shot. He's feeling normal enough to feel defiant though, "You can't just order me-"

"Oh yes, I can." Sheppard has a death grip on Rodney's forearm, the fingers cinched so painfully tight that Rodney knows he will have bruises. "Use the hologram room. You're not going near the chair again. I'll get Marines to guard it if I have to."

There is a pause where Rodney sputters indignantly under Sheppard's piercing glare.

Rodney replies in a furious voice, "That won't stop me."

Sheppard regards McKay for a moment, his face unreadable, and says, "You said I could trust you with the power you have. Can I?"

That catches McKay off guard. "Of course you can," is his automatic reply.

"Do you trust yourself with it?" Sheppard asks.

Rodney blinks. "Pardon?"

"You're losing control, McKay. I can tell. You had _no_ idea what was happening to you in the chair. If I hadn't come looking for you here, what do you think might have happened? And what about the balcony? Radek, Carson? How much of that was intentional and how much of that just got out of control?"

Rodney's mouth opens and closes a few times. Sheppard is right, of course. Rodney doesn't know what to say, because it's all true. It's all just spiraling out of his control and he doesn't want Sheppard to know just how terrifying that really is.

They regard each other wordlessly. Sheppard continues, "I know this is difficult. I know you don't mean for any of this to happen, that some of it is inside your control and some of it isn't – some of it's dangerous, some harmless…"

_I would never hurt you, McKay. Ever._

Rodney suddenly recalls the words. He doesn't think he'll ever forget them. He remembers the warmth of Sheppard's skin and feeling the invasion, like a freezing river broken free and plummeting down a riverbed long since dried up. He remembers soaking it up like a sponge, every feeling, every fleeting thought greedily captured like water for a man dying of thirst... he remembers the touch, but above it all he remembers the animalistic urge to protect, so strong it was like a brand seared across Rodney's flesh. He'll never, _ever_, forget that feeling, of Sheppard's fierce protective presence, in places he's never allowed anyone to go...

"Can I trust_ you?_" Rodney interrupts.

Sheppard recoils and Rodney tries to ignore the fact that Sheppard's face looks like he's just been physically struck. "You know you can." Sheppard relies harshly, and Rodney hates himself just a little for being this manipulative, because he knows all too well what feelings prompt Sheppard to do these things.

"Can I? I trust you with my life, Sheppard, but I don't know if I can trust you to know the difference between protecting me and helping me."

Sheppard grits his teeth and Rodney can't read the internal struggle he's sure the Colonel must be having.

"There are some things I _have_ to do and I can't always know the consequences. There's a price to pay for everything, whether you're willing to allow that or not. Can I trust you to stand back and watch? To be there but not interfere?"

The urge to tentatively reach into Sheppard's mind flares, but he shoves it down. He wants that connection so bad it's almost painful – he wants his fingers to wrap around Sheppard's wrist, he wants the cloth of his sleeve that separates Sheppard's hand from the skin of his shoulder to vanish. He wants that invasion, that protective feeling to wrap itself around his brain again-

He doesn't do anything. Simply sits there and waits for Sheppard to speak, hoping his own internal war is not visible. Sits there hating this - two men, circling each other, hesitantly testing the other's guard, looking for chinks in the armor. Rodney loathes the distance and hopes he's bridging the gap that's separating them. Hopes he's not just mangling it, because the thought of doing this alone, of pushing everyone away, makes an icy grip of terror wrap itself around his heart…

Sheppard sighs. The hand leaves Rodney's forearm and Rodney privately mourns the loss, the inklings of panic setting in before Sheppard says, "I'll try."

Rodney lets out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. Sheppard continues, "You have to let me know when you need help, though. You can't just run away, because I _will_ come looking for you."

Rodney gives himself a moment to bask in the feeling of relief. "Thank you," he breathes, hopes Sheppard can feel how monumentally grateful he is. Wants to grab Sheppard's wrist and pour that feeling in, but settles for flashing him a weary, crooked grin.

Sheppard gives him a shaky grin back. Rodney suddenly realizes this probably isn't easy for him either.

"What were you looking for?" Sheppard suddenly asks, the effort to change the atmosphere blindingly obvious, but Rodney is grateful enough to play along.

Only to realize that he doesn't want to say. He doesn't want to give false hope and then dash it against the rocks. He wants to be sure, one hundred percent sure, both with the possibility of salvation and his readiness to go through with it before he tells anyone. He's never been good at keeping secrets though, so Sheppard looks vaguely suspicious when he says blandly, "I had another idea about upgrading the city. I was just checking the databases to see if it was feasible."

Sheppard is almost hesitant when he says, "If the upgrade can only be done using the chair, I don't…"

"Don't worry, Mother, I'll find another way. No matter how ungodly slow and lumbering it's bound to be." Rodney pauses, then says, "You're right though, I'll need to use the hologram room."

Sheppard cocks his head, "I thought that was a drain on the ZPM."

Rodney waves a hand at him, "There are ways around that. Besides, it's either the hologram or the chair."

"You _could _just let it go."

Rodney shoots him a withering glare. Sheppard holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine. But I'm coming with you."

"No. You're not."

Sheppard crosses his arms. Rodney suppresses a grimace. That came out a little harsh and he doesn't have to be a mind reader to know that Sheppard is hugely unhappy with things at the moment. "I need to work this out myself," he explains. "I need some answers. If I find what I'm looking for, I'll come to you, okay? I promise."

Sheppard glances away at nothing, before reluctant acceptance stretches across his face. He slowly uncrosses his arms and pushes himself to his feet, holding out a hand to help Rodney up. Rodney accepts it gratefully and rises to his feet. _History repeats itself, all right._

Sheppard forces out a grudging, "Just be careful, okay?"

Rodney feels an inexplicable guilt as he replies, "Sure. No problem."

This time when he leaves, he doesn't run.

* * *

He honestly can't remember her name. When he asks her, she replies primly, "That is not relevant. Please refrain from asking pointless questions." 

He'd also forgotten that she was a complete bitch. "Would you like me to call you Hot Fonda, then?" he asks in a mildly snide voice.

Her hands remain clasped in front of her blindingly white dress and the blank gaze off into the distance never wavers. The serene yet stern expression never changes, Rodney's remarks sliding off her like oil on water. The hologram is silent and Rodney always takes silence as an open invitation.

"Well then, Hot Fonda, what can you tell me about ascension?"

It's bound to be slow and tedious, but Rodney doesn't want to screw this up. He has a million and one questions, all clamoring to be answered in his head and they're not all about saving his own hide. He wants to ask her about math and the universe and the chair interface and the ascension machine. He has questions about the ZedPM, Ancient outposts, the war against the Wraith, the sowing of life in the galaxy, the journey back to Earth and starting over. Later, he promises himself. Later, if there's really no hope, he can concentrate on these things and maybe make some sense of the universe and his place in it before he dies.

The hologram remains silent.

Incredulous, "You're _not _giving me the silent treatment." Rodney says. A lengthy pause ensues, overlaid by Rodney's aura of disbelief. "Oh my god, you are. Okay, look, I'll stop calling you Hot Fonda. You have to be called _something _though. I put up with enough indignities in life that I refuse to have this conversation with some nameless computer program. What did Grodin call you?"

Grodin had been the one to discover the room. Rodney remembers it with crystal clarity – hunched over a laptop in his lab, growling over the desalinization system codes, when Peter burst into the room like a small storm, his eyes bright with that familiar thrill of discovery, "_Rodney, you must come look at this!"_

"Dr. Grodin referred to me using the name of the designer of this program and the one after whom my image was constructed, Ganos Lal."

Rodney pushes the memory away, suddenly not at all interested in humoring a computer program. "Yes, fine." He says, because what does he care? Hot Fonda was better anyway. "_Ganos Lal, _what can you tell me about ascension?"

"The next stage in evolution, it is a state where consciousness transcends physical form and exists as a force of pure energy."

"Great. Tell me something I don't know." Tedious wont even come close to describing this endeavor, Rodney knows.

"That is not a valid inquiry."

Rodney grits his teeth. "Do you have a record of all the Ancients that achieved ascension?"

"I do not."

Rodney eyes her shrewdly. "How about _some _of the Ancients that achieved ascension?"

"Such a record exists."

Rodney claps his hands together briskly. "Excellent. Does that record include personality profiles?"

"That information is limited."

Rodney waves a hand at her. "That's fine. Who among those in your record believed in helping others ascend?"

There is a pause before the hologram replies, "I am not obligated to answer that question."

_That _has Rodney's eyebrows climbing high on his forehead. "I beg your pardon?" he says in disbelief. "Not obligated?"

"That inquiry is not appropriate to the nature of this program. I am not obligated to answer such questions."

_Bitch_. "What's to stop me from accessing the database and finding the information myself?"

"That is not a valid inquiry."

Rodney favors her with a venomous glare. "_Nothing_ is stopping me, that's what. So why don't you just go ahead and answer the question?"

"I am not obligated to answer that question."

Rodney breaths, in and out. "That's a lie."

Silence from the hologram. Rodney despises the distant stare. "You're obligated to answer any question I have that pertains to Atlantis and any of the information contained within the city's databases. This includes everything related to ascension and whatever else I think I need to know."

"My programming restricts me from discussing information of a delicate or controversial nature with my intended audience. That is not the nature of this program."

"For children maybe, but I am not a child."

"It is not within my abilities to verify that claim."

Rodney firmly pushes down the mad urge to tear her code to shreds and put it back together with the ability to 'verify that claim' included, because he knows he could. But it's time, all time, and there's not enough of it.

"How do I get that information then?"

"Demonstration of appropriate maturity is required to view information on that subject."

"How about the fact that I'm dying on the path to ascension?"

There is a short pause following Rodney's flat statement where the hologram doesn't say anything in her detached, school-teacher perfect voice. Rodney continues. "My genetic growth has accelerated to the point where I'm physically ready to ascend. I can hear people's thoughts with my mind, I can feel people's emotions through touch. I can comprehend the mechanics of the universe with my intelligence and I can bring a man back to life with my hands. I have less than two days to derive how to ascend before my genetic growth kills me, and I'm terrified beyond all possible comprehension. If that doesn't qualify me to ask questions about ascension, I don't know what does."

He thought for sure she was going to declare her continued inability to verify his claim, but instead the hologram merely stands there, hands folded primly in front of her white dress, and answers, "There was a great conflict between those who believed that it was their duty to use their ascended powers to help those who existed on the lower plane and those who believed it was the greatest blasphemy to interfere."

Finally. "The al-Terrans and the Ori." Rodney supplies.

"The al-Terrans do not interfere with those on the lower planes, for to obstruct another's free will is against their highest laws. They believed that equality could not exist between those on the higher plane and those on the lower for the only interaction possible between those of such radically different power would be that of master and slave.

"The Ori believed the opposite. They believed in using their ascended powers to interact with and, if necessary, control those on the lower plane, interfering with free will when it suited their needs. Though at first they did so with good intentions, they began to realize that interaction often led to worship, and worship gave them power. It has always been that power corrupts and the al-Terrans saw this. They warned their siblings against that path and a conflict grew as a result."

"Yes, yes, I know most of that. There is a third group of ascended beings you've failed to mention. The ones that believe in helping others on the lower plane ascend without demanding worship in exchange. Oma Desala was one."

"That name is not included in the Atlantis archives."

Rodney had already figured that, so isn't surprised. Either Oma Desala was never an Ancient, which is possible, or the Ancients continued their nasty habit of covering up all their problems and hoping that made them go away. How anyone could worship such mind-bogglingly flawed beings is beyond him. "That probably wasn't her al-Terran name. She might not even have been an Ancient, now that I think about it. What matters is that people like her exist, despite what your archives may say. People who aren't satisfied with the laws of the al-Terrans _o_r the doctrine of the Ori."

"There is no inclusion of such a faction in the archives."

"Could we focus on something other than your uselessness for second? I want to know about the people in this city who believed that ascension was a shared path."

The hologram studies the distance with benevolence. "All believed that ascension was a shared path, one that must be walked in harmony. It is not a singular journey."

Rodney frowns. "Did any intend to help others once they reached the goal themselves?"

"There are none in the archives who recorded such an intent. Non-interference was a unified belief. Those who reached ascension would be bound to that law by their fellow ascendants."

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Rodney asks plaintively, "Do you have to be so difficult?"

"That is not a valid inquiry."

Rodney peers at her shrewdly. "It's too bad you're not real, because I need to level with you. Or hit you, I can't decide which."

"I am programmed to offer advice to a properly phrased question." The hologram supplies helpfully.

Well. Rodney can't fathom what advice this idiot program is going to spew out, but he decides he's really not making progress either way. "What do you think I should do?" he asks plainly.

"The situation has not been properly outlined."

"I have two choices." Rodney begins, feeling like an idiot but taking the plunge anyway. "Neither is very appealing, to be honest, but hey; who said life was fair?" Rodney leans against the control dais and breaths out slowly. It's surprising painful to say it out loud, so the words come haltingly.

"I'm going to die. My genetic growth has been artificially accelerated to the point where my body will soon be unable to handle the changes and death will result. There's nothing I can do about that, unfortunately. My only real chance lies with my second option: ascension. I wouldn't even know where to _begin_ with achieving that one - I only know that I don't have the time to make the journey on my own, not without help. There have been others in my situation who were helped by ascended beings, but I don't know how to ask for it if I don't know _who to_ _ask_. That's where you come in, but you've been about as helpful as the damn machine that started all of this in the first place. Meaning, not at all."

"You wish to appeal to an ascended being for help with your journey towards ascension."

Rodney resists the urge to clap sarcastically. "Yes, well done. Bravo."

"Only the Ori would assist with such a thing. The al-Terrans would not interfere."

Rodney almost slams his fist into the control console. "I know that. What happened to 'it's not a singular journey'? Aren't we supposed to help one another walk the path to enlightenment, or some such nonsense? It's not like helping me ascend is going to rock the foundations of the universe or unravel the fabric of time. Nothing is going to change. I'm just trying to make peace with myself and move on to something a little less terrifying and unfulfilling before I ultimately perish."

There is a pause. The hologram's gaze into the distance doesn't waver.

Until suddenly, it does. The hologram's hands unclasp themselves from in front of the pristine white dress and the serene gaze fixes directly onto Rodney's face and he's too surprised to do anything other than gape. A much deeper, richer voice issues from the hologram, "All things change, Doctor McKay. Nothing perishes. Surely you have realized as much."

She is staring directly into his eyes, locking Rodney in place with twin wells of deep, tireless knowledge, ageless and fathomless. Rodney's breath catches in his throat. "You're…"

Energy. It is ageless and at the same time not – a heartbeat; a lifetime. Rodney reaches out mentally to the hologram and finds something there, _something,_but his attempts to connect and interpret are pushed easily aside.

Ganos Lal smiles. "You are not as alone as you might think, Doctor McKay."

* * *

-to be continued 


End file.
